


Cherries

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21650149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Tom visits Harry in sickbay.
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	Cherries

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He sneaks down after hours, when the halls are dimly lit to simulate the night and the Doctor should be deactivated. He’ll still be keyed in to the monitor, automatically summoned if any of his patient’s vitals change, but from what Tom understands, there’s currently nothing even he can do. The vast database of the Federation is formed from alpha quadrant knowledge, and Starfleet’s never encountered anything like their current problem. They’re heading back to the colony they just left, hoping for some answers, but it’ll take at least five days before they hear anything useful.

That’s five more days that Harry will be stuck in sickbay, _alone_ —five more nights in isolation. Tom sneaks through the self-opening doors and right through the quarantine field. He’s already read the reports—Harry’s not contagious. Tom would probably still come even if he were. 

Harry’s wide-awake, suddenly nocturnal. He’s sitting on a biobed, dressed down in blue pajamas, the bright fabric of his shirt only highlighting how pale his skin’s become. He looks up when he sees Tom coming, and his eyes are red-rimmed, but the irises themselves have become crimson. He looks straight out of a storybook, or one of the old fashioned comics Tom used to collect on Earth. Except those vampires were always terrifying, strong and slick, and Harry’s just... _Harry._

Harry’s the cutest vampire Tom’s ever seen—something Tom could never be afraid of. Harry’s eyes go wide like Tom _should be_ —he should listen to the captain’s orders and stay away. But Tom never could stay away from Harry. 

Tom doesn’t stop until he’s right next to the biobed, right in Harry’s bubble. Harry swallows. He looks upset, _starved_ , not emaciated but definitely thinner. He rasps in his low voice, “Tom... you shouldn’t be here.”

“I read your file,” Tom says, ignoring all concern. “You don’t have the gene that’ll pass it on. And you also can’t break down synthesized blood like you need to.”

Harry’s eyes scrunch shut like he _knows_ and it hurts to think about it. Tom presses, “You need _blood_ , Harry. Really blood.”

Harry shakes his head. He looks away, lifting one trembling hand to rake through his dark hair. It’s fallen loose, tousled and so different from how neat he usually keeps it. He draws in an unstable breath—something the Doctor says he doesn’t need anymore, but it’s a force of habit. “Yeah. I... the Doctor’s going to look into donors in the morning...”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

Harry’s head whips around, red eyes blowing bigger and pink lips parting. Somehow, it makes him even cuter. He dazedly whispers, “I can’t...”

“You can. You _will_.” Harry tries to protest, but Tom cuts him off: “You need it, Harry. And I don’t mind. I read everything the Doctor found; I know what I’m doing. You won’t hurt me.”

“Tom—”

“ _Harry._ ”

Harry slowly closes his mouth. His eyes shine with gratitude. Tom knows he’s too hungry to really push Tom away. He must be _dying_ for sustenance. It’s been six days since Tom’s seen him eat or drink. He shouldn’t be alive.

According to tricorder readings, he isn’t. It just makes Tom all the more confident that this _will_ work like he thinks, because everything else is straight out of legend. Harry finally mumbles, “You’ll stop me if I take too much...?”

“Scouts honour.” Tom even winks. He knows the computer will kick in if anything happens to his vital signs. But he also knows that that won’t happen. Harry’s still _Harry_ , and he’d never hurt Tom. His breath hitches when Tom rolls up his sleeve and offers up his arm. 

Harry’s fingers tentatively close around Tom’s wrist. He lifts it to his mouth, staring at it with thickly dilating eyes, trim lashes falling half closed, the ghost of his breath puffing over Tom’s sensitive skin, not quite as warm as it should be. Tom can see Harry’s wet tongue curling around his fangs. 

Then Harry opens wide and bites down, sinking right in—Tom bites the inside of his mouth to keep from screaming. It does _hurt_. It’s a sharp, slicing pain that’s abruptly washed away in the heady rush of his pounding blood. It hammers through him, surging forward, bubbling up between Harry’s parted lips. It’s a dizzying sensation that makes Tom’s knees weak. He can feel Harry sucking at him, and half his instincts shriek to run away, but the rest moan and surrender. There’s something strangely fulfilling about sating his best friend’s hunger. It helps that Harry’s handsome face is glowing in ecstasy. Tom imagines that’s the exact same way he looks in bed. 

Tom’s right on the edge of passing out, numb but giddy, but then Harry stops sucking. He slowly pulls away, shuddering as he swallows—Tom listens to the gulp and sees his adam’s apple bob. Harry licks the remnants of Tom’s blood off his lips, murmuring breathlessly, “Thank you.”

Tom can only nod. His eyes flicker down to his wrist, where two dark puncture wounds are slowly sewing shut of their own accord. The area is a ripe red but slick with Harry’s spit, and that saliva does its job—Tom heals. He hears Harry release a deep but quiet groan. 

He looks so _happy_. Fully satisfied. And _Tom did that._ It feels good. Tom weakly lifts his other arm, trying to drape Harry in a loose hug that Harry instantly leans into. He snuggles into the crux of Tom’s neck, hands looping around to cling to Tom’s back. Tom pets lightly through his hair and promises, “It’s going to be okay.”

“Please state the nature of the medical—Mr. Paris! What are you doing?”

Tom glances over to where the Doctor’s formed. But he doesn’t let go of Harry. He explains, “Just feeding the patient, Doc.”

The Doctors look bewildered, then abruptly scowls with understanding. “Of all the irresponsible... don’t you understand the concept of a quarantine? And you, Mr. Kim! I expected better!”

Harry mutters a guilty, “Sorry.”

“That won’t do any good now! He could already be infected.”

Tom tries to protest, “I read the file—”

“Sit down, Mr. Paris,” the Doctor grumbles, all but wrenching Tom out of Harry’s grasp and shooing him over to the next bed. “At least I have another patient to study now, not that I would’ve liked two. You can rest assured that the captain will hear about this as soon as alpha shift begins.”

Tom expected as much. But he follows the Doctor’s fussing, shooting Harry a short smile over his shoulder. At least he can rest easy now, knowing he can always keep Harry satiated even if they never find a cure.


End file.
